The End?
by mkh2
Summary: A self–imposed challenge: what happens in the final chapter of Book 7 that would make the story end with scar? At the final battle, after the dust has settled, it remains to be seen as to whom is victorious. Here are some ideas. Character death
1. My spell worked after all…

The End?

* * *

The resulting explosion from the hurriedly shouted spell threw both wizards sprawling onto their backs and sent a cloud of graying green dust up into the air over them, slowly settling and leaving both wizards temporarily in a shadowed world. 

Trembling, he sat up from where he had been knocked from the force of the spell. Blinking wildly, he looked at the pale face of his enemy who looked momentarily disoriented before the unfocused eyes suddenly focused on him with almost startling clarity. Looking fearfully into those eyes, he saw himself reflected and realized with dawning horror that they both had matching scars now. The other wizard tremulously raised his wand arm, jerkily pointing the wand at his face. "No," he breathed, voice raspy, and looked down at the wand in his hand, wondering when, exactly, it had broken.

A dark form moved quickly in between them, looking first at one then the other, brow furrowed, black robes swirling powerfully around the lean tall form, striking an imposing figure when he suddenly directed his wand to his face.

"This is the end," Snape murmured, lifting his wand slightly to point between his eyes, prepared to cast the lethal spell.

"S-Snape, no! Wait!" he cried, before a wave of green light filled his vision and swallowed him and he crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Snape paused, frowning at the prone body, slightly put off by the strange cry, before turning to the figure he had jumped in front of.

"Mister Potter, are you well?" he muttered at the boy still sitting on the ground, staring dazedly at the fallen body of the dark wizard. At his nod, Snape pulled the boy to his feet, the smaller figure staggering into his body for a moment before straightening up.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, thanks," vivid green eyes blinked wildly up at the older man from behind those round glasses. "I didn't expect you to be the one to come…"

"Well, the others were detained. Come along; I'm sure the Order would like to be filled in on the happenings," Snape stated and turned to walk away.

"Yes, right," he agreed, before glancing back at the body. He smirked, his eyes flashing red for a moment as he looked back with a positively serpentine sneer.

'So, my spell worked after all…' Lord Voldemort gloated, turning to follow the spy who betrayed him, carefully brushing his bangs over his scar.

* * *

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling 

Did I scare anyone? Good. That was the idea.

Actually, this popped into my head late one night and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down. I was going to delete part of the last sentence "carefully brushing his bangs over his scar," but then I thought it was fitting, since Madame Rowling has mentioned that she has already written the last chapter of the 7th, and final, book and that the last word would be "scar." Positively delicious, isn't it? It leaves the ending open to so many possibilities – I've thought of hundreds of ways, myself, that it could turn out. I do hope Harry survives, though it doesn't seem likely, and I want Snape to be redeemed. I staunchly refuse to believe that Snape is evil. So what if he's a cantankerous ol' codger? So was Grumpy, but I love him the most of all the dwarves. XP

So, in case anyone didn't realize – Harry and Voldemort switched bodies. Harry died. Voldemort was surprised to see Snape, and more surprised to see Snape kill what Snape believed to be Voldemort. Poor Snape… What happens next is, well, to be left up to the imagination.

Oops... I uploaded this in the incorrect place - made it look like two chapters when I was just trying to add a note. Sorry about that.


	2. Where’s your scar?

The End?

* * *

"Harry? Harry!" 

Through the clearing smoke that resulted from the explosions from the rapid firing of spells occurring around them, a trembling figure could be seen crouched low in the mist. Hermione, blinking through the blood that seeped from a thin gash over her left eyebrow, ran forward upon recognizing him. As she approached his side, Harry leaned forward onto his hands and retched onto the blackened earth at his feet.

"Harry—"

"He's dead."

Hermione stilled, wondering who—

"_Voldemort_ is _dead_." Harry lifted a dirtied, bloodied face, probably due to one of the many times he dove at the ground to evade rapidly flung _Avada Kedavras_, to her. His eyes looked vacant.

"Snape had cast a spell, a freezing charm, and Voldemort slipped a bit and I shouted a spell and – I don't quite know what spell but – _there_."

Harry turned his head to the side and gestured vaguely. Hermione looked up, mildly surprised to their former Professor Snape crouched over the lifeless corpse of the once powerful and feared Lord Voldemort, checking to make sure that he was indeed dead. This reminded her of something that she needed to tell Harry and she steeled herself the best she could. A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

"Harry, Ron– Ron is—" Hermione tried to get out.

"Dead. I know. Voldemort showed me." Harry continued to stare blankly at nothing. Hermione winced. "Where's Ginny?"

Hermione winced again. "She's, well, she's coddling, I mean, she's nursing Mal- Draco Malfoy. He had saved her, you see, kinda jumped in front of her and pushed out of the way of this spell – severed his left leg just below the knee."

"He can use his father's cane. He won't be needing it anymore," Harry nodded absently to himself. It seemed to be Hermione's day for wincing she thought.

They watched as Snape used _mobilicorpus_ on Voldemort to move him closer to the two, carelessly dropping the body nearby and settling heavily on his knees to check them as well. Hermione started when she saw him point his wand at her face, but calmed as he used the same spell on her that she had previously seen Madame Pomfrey use on herself and others before. She worried at her lips when Harry didn't so much as flinch when Snape quickly flicked his wand at him to perform the same diagnostic spell.

Snape frowned at Harry's disheveled appearance.

"Well, looks like the little hero has a problem maintaining appearances," he muttered before his wand issued a gentle cleansing spell to remove the majority of the grime, blood and grit on Harry's face.

Harry blinked at this and reached up to touch the now clean skin.

"The blood…"

"Is gone, Harry," Hermione finished. "Are you alright?"

Harry looked at Hermione, then Snape, then finally at the pale corpse not far from them. He breathed out slowly, shakily.

"I… I will be. I think we'll all be fine, eventually. Maybe." Harry's eyes started to go out of focus again and Professor Snape, sighing, grabbed Harry under his arm and hoisted him to his feet.

"Time to go meet your adoring public, Mr. Potter."

Hermione scrambled to her feet as well, thinking about all the things she should be doing to, and she grimaced at this, help with the "clean up." Awful words, really. Standing level with Harry, Hermione's mouth dropped as she noticed something out of place.

"Harry, where's your scar?"

* * *

None of these drabbles are connected to each other; they can all stand alone as separate stories.  
Well, I decided to continue on with the challenge I had given myself. In case you ignored the note on the first chapter, you see, J.K. Rowling had stated that she had, indeed, written the ending already (if not last chapter, at least last paragraph), and that the last word would be scar. I don't know about you, but at that moment hundreds, if not thousands of possibilities shot through my head just then and, well, I just had to write _something_ down. Well, I did, and now I've just _got_ to continue this. So please bear with me. I'll be posting up a few more – none have anything to do with the other. They're all just possibilities, and if any of them turn out to be right, I don't know whether I'd laugh, cry, or think, "Man, am I good or what?" 


	3. I’ve always liked my scar

The End?

* * *

Voldemort seemed to be gaining ground, Harry grimaced as he jumped to the side yet again and shouted yet another fruitless disarming spell. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a black figure sweeping towards them, wand drawn and at the ready. 

Snape!

Harry jumped back, feet sinking into the soft mud that been turned up in their dueling, mixed with blood and rain water and other nameless things which he wished to put no name to mixed in. Voldemort drew closer – he was now ten meters from him - a smirk on his face showing that he, too, had noticed the presence of the potions master.

"How lovely. Severus, do join us and witness the demise of young Mr. Potter here," Voldemort's lips curled up maliciously at Harry as Snape ran closer and closer.

Harry's heart seemed to plummet in his stomach and as a last ditch effort he raised his wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

• • •

Snape had come lately upon this scene, having stealthily done away with a few Death Eaters as the situations presented themselves to him. He didn't kill them, per se, but certainly he made sure that they would be interfering in the Order's fight no longer.

He could make out two vague, shifting figures distantly in the mist, engaged in a furious duel and as he drew closer he broke into a run.

The Boy-Who-Lived and the Dark Lord.

Wand at the ready, his mind swiftly ran down a list, trying to figure out the best spell for this. He vaguely heard the words from the dark figure to his right as he sped up. Seeing both figures move into action, he heedlessly shouted a spell of his own moments before he heard the others shout their own spells.

"Prote-coomph!"

Snape, always graceful, if somewhat ungainly Severus Snape, tripped over a rock sunk into the churned up muck and mire on which this final battle was taking place and landed flat on his face, about ten meters from both wizards to his sides, his misstated spell firing off wildly through the air. Pulling his face free from the grime, he anxiously looked up, afraid of what he'd see.

• • •

It was, frankly, a miracle. As the spells, all three, unbeknownst to the duelers, flew threw the air to meet in the middle, Snape's spell crashed sidelong into Harry's and the most unusual barrier shield Harry had ever seen sprung up four meters in front of him. Instead of the spells dissipating, as Harry thought it would, thus leaving him vulnerable to the most unforgivable of all the Unforgivables, this spidery web of almost translucent silver and gold rapidly formed and then, for no explicable reason, appeared to take on the shape and look of – a window? – framed in a purple-black wood. The Killing Curse hit it dead center.

Harry's eyes went wide as, instead of shattering, the curse seemed to push in the glass – _was_ it glass? – and suddenly the threads of silver and gold were visible as the green light seemed to be held in a writhing ball in the crackling see-through net inches from his face before suddenly, for no apparent reason, the net contracted and flung the lethal spell right back at Lord Voldemort.

Lord Voldemort crumpled to the floor – he hadn't seen it coming, either.

As Lord Voldemort died, the window seemed to vanish slowly as well until nothing remained of the odd side effect of two spells (one of which was poorly performed.) Harry stared at the still figure in front of him before sitting straight down in the mud and began to laugh wildly.

Snape pulled himself up from the mud and walked the rest of the way over to the hysterically laughing wizard. He took one look at the frantic expression on the boy's face, tears – of relief, of happiness, he did not know – streaming down his face, and promptly slapped him across the face.

"Mr. Potter, no need to work yourself into hysterics. Now is not the time to be going into shock." Snape said as blandly as possible.

Harry turned a wet face up to look into Snape's still muddy face and barely cracked a smile as he said dazedly, "What – What just happened here?"

"A bloody miracle, that's what. If you hadn't noticed, I didn't exactly aim, and frankly _Protego_ wouldn't have been of much use as it was, either. We got lucky, that's what." That said, Snape also sunk to the earth, squatting staunchly on his haunches and rummaging through his inner robe pockets. "I need to get to a pub, that's what I need to do," he muttered as he started cleaning his face up with a, thankfully clean, handkerchief he'd found in one of them.

Harry cracked a smile. "I think I'd like to join you, sir, if you don't mind."

Snape grimaced. "If you must."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his forehead before glancing over at Snape again.

"It's quiet now."

Snape nodded slightly. "The fighting was mostly over, I believe, by the time I got here."

"I thought _you_ were going to attack _me_," Harry confessed. "I was pretty sure you hated me."

"Six years at Hogwarts together, Mr. Potter," Snape said slowly. "If you still can't grasp the concept I just plain don't like you, then you must be ever stupider than I thought."

Harry grinned wryly. "Gee, I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult."

"Take it as you will." Snape glanced over at Harry's scar as he rubbed at his forehead again. "Is it hurting?"

"Is what hurting?"

"Your scar."

"No, it's just a headache." Harry paused and ran a finger over his scar. "I think it's just a regular old scar now."

"Hn. How lovely for you." Snape seemed to debate within himself for a moment before grudgingly asking Harry a question. "The rest of the wizarding world will probably hang me for this but… You can probably get that removed you know – I have potions and there are spells—"

"Not that I'm ungrateful for the suggestion, but no thanks."

"Ever the little celebrity, are we, Mr. Potter?" Snape drolly raised one eyebrow at him.

Harry made a face. "Not that I enjoy the attention, really, it's just—" Harry looked Snape in the eye. "It's just – I've always liked my scar."

* * *

Another stand alone story...  
A misfired spell! I just loved that idea, couldn't stop myself. And Snape being the one who cast it incorrectly was just an added bonus to me. (I love Snapey. He tastes like chocolate. XD Just kidding, just kidding. Honestly, I don't know what Snape tastes like. –w– OwO) 


	4. tears spilled down his scar

The End?

* * *

Hermione swallowed the sob that was threatening to break free of her throat again, almost unable to see past the tears that were clouding her vision. So many losses, so many unnecessary deaths. Yes, they did manage to save a few, unexpectedly, but the losses (what a cruel, clinical way of saying it!) were so much higher. She had seen it happen, she had seen the final blow, she watched and stood quietly by – she had been unable to do anything – and when it was done they took her aside, along with a few others, and repeatedly and relentlessly cross-examined her testimony of the final happenings. 

When Harry had said, at the beginning of sixth year, that he was the one in the prophecy that was supposed to defeat Voldemort, she had thought that so long as she and the others had made sure that Harry would be adequately prepared, and had helped Harry along, that all would be well. _One cannot live while the other survives._ Was that how it went? In her grief, she could hardly tell, much less see straight. She was sure her face was red and blotchy – she knew her eyes were – and she must look a right mess. She didn't particularly care at the moment.

She straightened her skirt. She needed to keep up appearances since those jackals from the Ministry were still lurking around.

Yet another Ministry official was droning on, extolling the virtues about the Boy-Who-Lived, but she couldn't hear him over the buzzing in her ears. She wondered how she managed to keep sitting up straight when her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest, and her shirt was constricting her breathing, and the whole room was spinning, spinning, spinning, but she was glad that she could manage sitting at least when all she wanted to do with lie in her room, her room at home, not here, and just cry and wail and beat up her pillows till the fluff spilled out in a white rush.

A hand closed around hers and she pulled away, clutching her hand to herself. She knew it was rude – it must've been Ron… or was it Ginny? She couldn't really tell right now – but she couldn't help herself. Her nerves were on fire, still, from a hex she had been hit with, not that she minded because it was the perfect excuse to not have to touch anyone. She didn't think she could handle it yet – it seemed just yesterday that she was drenched head to foot in blood. Actually, it was the day before yesterday. Mustn't forget the technicalities.

A bleating noise nearby caused her to lift her head slightly and, squinting, she made out the trembling forms of Dobby and Winky, Winky, for once, being the one to give comfort to the traumatized figure of Dobby, _his_ clothes in disarray for once, clutching to himself the black sock Harry had released him with and wearing Christmas socks from Harry from years past. For a brief moment S.P.E.W. floated through her mind but she quickly shook it off – now hardly seemed the appropriate time to bring that up, and Harry did say they seemed happy in their situations (though for Winky nothing could ever make her happier than to have her Master Barty returned… if only a wish could bring him back, bring them all back!)

Everyone was rising. The speaker had gone quiet, Hermione noticed belatedly, and quickly pushed herself to her feet, feeling the rush of what felt like liquid fire sweeping over and through her body but did not wince. Slowly each row of people moved solemnly towards the white casket that was open so the world could see who lay within, despite the protests of the people who knew the deceased best. Even in death he was given no reprieve.

As she neared the casket her body began full out trembling. Was it really worth defeating He-Vol-Voldemort, if it meant giving up such a _wonderful_, _kind_…

But _he_ seemed to think so, willingly stepping in Voldemort's line of fire (directed at, of all people, _Snape_, who was protecting her and several other younger students), to ensure that they'd survive, flinging his own lethal curse at Voldemort. She remembered how each curse hit the other dead on and they both crumpled, pale, to the ground, both dead, Voldemort's face was contorted in shock – he hadn't made any new horcruxes and Harry, before the final battle, had just destroyed the last of them so that all that was left was destroying the figure himself, the Dark Lord.

Looking tearfully up the row she saw Snape, somehow paler and more sour looking than ever gazing down at the body and visibly (_visibly!_) shivered, eyes closing and muttering something she couldn't hear and couldn't read on his lips. Snape, reluctantly it seemed, moved on, his head drooping, as if still stunned at what _he_ had done. She was almost certain he was muttering on about his hero-complex, he liked to call it.

The Weasley's descended up the casket in a horde next. The twins were both pale, faces drawn – they offered up a trick wand, a ton-tongue toffee, and a canary cream to the body in the casket, carefully stowing the treasures to the side where they wouldn't be disturbed. Mrs. Weasley blew kisses and fretfully tried to fix his hair while Mr. Weasley added a collection of his own (rubber ducky, battery, and electrical plug outlet) to the twins. Ginny's head was buried in Charlie's shoulder and Ron was so white that the back of his neck, the only part of him she could get a good look at, reminded her of a ghost… or at least a muggle version of a ghost. Bill and Fleur were clutching at each other, Fleur managing to hold on to both her sister and new daughter as well, half smothering her face in her husband's chest.

Hermione looked around – she could see Remus and Tonks, Minerva and Hagrid standing off to the side – she had been so dazed she hadn't seen them go up ahead. The Weasley's slowly drifted away from its side, sobbing raucously amongst themselves and Hermione moved closer, closer, peering into the casket. Her heart stuck in her throat.

So many little gifts, much more than she had seen added, surrounded him, lying so still in the velvet-lined casket. Hundreds of trinkets, photos, letters, flowers littered the last bed he'd ever lay in. Thoughtfully she pulled out a chain with four items on it – Ron's, Harry's and hers DA galleons – and a shrunken volume of _Hogwarts, a History_. She tucked it under his hands the best she could before slumping forward, sobbing quietly.

She never noticed her tears spilling down his lightening-shaped scar.

* * *

Ooh, I ended with a funeral this time. I wonder what's going on through my lil' noggin. Please leave a review - I'd like to know what you think.  



	5. Death by Chocolate, sort of

Author's Note: This… this is a very strange piece that, according to the original copy, I had written about three days after the last one was posted on 02-22-06. There is one other I may post after this was written one day after, on the 23rd of February, but I like this one more, so up this one goes. Please excuse the incredibly huge difference of time between this and my last post. Unfortunately, I am easily distracted. (World of Warcrack, anyone?) I might consider posting the other one soon, especially since, as seen in book 7, she had changed her mind about ending the book with the word "scar" so a bit of pressure off my back, but first I need to decipher what the heck I had written. So, I suppose you could consider this my birthday to you (yup, the big 2-5, halfway to vingtage now and all that jazz.) Okay, commencing story now.

* * *

The End?

* * *

The package was, as usual, in a plain white paper wrapper with the Honeydukes stamp in the upper right corner. Malfoy, sneering at Wormtail, shoved it roughly into Wormtail's hands. "Don't see why you can't make your own candy runs," he frowned. "Or has your supply of Polyjuice run out again?"

Wormtail squinted his eyes at Malfoy. "L-Lord Voldemort requires these for testing. Are you questioning the Dark Lord's commands, Lucius?"

Malfoy looked down his nose, his lip curling back in anger. "Of course not, Wormtail. It was merely an inquiry—"

"Which you had no reason to inquire about. I'll just take these to our Lord now." Wormtail and Malfoy glared icily at each other for a moment before Lucius shrugged and turned to the floo.

"I'll be on my way then." In a flash of green flames, he was gone.

Wormtail stared at the empty floo for a moment before turning his attention to the package. He sniffed the box loudly, his nose twitching in obvious delight at the wonderful smells emanating from the box. Surely having just one couldn't hurt.

"Wormtail," Voldemort called out. "Did the package arrive?"

Wormtail fumbled the box, nearly dropping it, but thankfully his silver hand managed to catch it and pull it tight to his chest. "Yes, m'Lord. Just a moment, I'm running the usual spells to—"

"Bring it here, I'll do them myself." Wormtail nodded, before scurrying forward, wincing as Voldemort continued with "You'd probably make a mess of the spells anyway."

Voldemort gestured to the table next to them, his eyes focused on the book, as he slipped his wand out, poised to run the usual gamut of tests on the package of sweets. Wormtail placed the box on the table and stepped back, greedy eyes pinned to the box. After a minute of nearly silent wand-waving, he gave the final flick of his wand and the packaging opened itself, revealing its savory, minty, chocolatey, sugar spun, caramel, cream-filled contents. Wormtail leaned in to take a peek at the treasure trove of sweets.

"Oh, there are some new ones…" Wormtail paused, realizing what he had just said.

"Ah, so there are. So good of you to volunteer," Voldemort lifted the buttery colored cream and held it up to Wormtail's face.

"Oh, ye-yes, m'Lord," Wormtail smiled weakly, gingerly taking the treat in between his fingers and tremulously taking a bite. "Ah, it's good, a lemon-crème filling." He quickly ate the rest.

"Rather hasty assessment, Wormtail, but I do enjoy a good lemon crème," Voldemort picked up the other one and sunk his sharp teeth into it, half-slurping the crème out before chewing down the rest.

He gestured to the box, in which toffees and mint patties and almond clusters glistened invitingly in their crisp white wrappers. Both fell to the treats, neither noticing the two tiny mice nibbling on an old bit of nougat in the corner of the room that quietly scurried out through a crack under the door.

Wormtail, teeth full of toffee, suddenly gave a hiccough and turned into a very large canary. Voldemort stared for all of half a second before he too hiccoughed and became a rather large canary as well. Then, their tongues started to enlarge, hanging further and further out of their beaks, lolling about like giant worms about their knobby bird knees, their wings flapping in panic, scrabbling at wands that, upon touching them, turned into rubber chickens and fake rats, until, finally, both fell to the floor, very quiet and very still.

• • •

Malfoy silently slipped through the rooms of the manor, carefully inching the door to the parlor open, peering in, breath still, held tightly in his chest. The sight of two giant, slow molting canaries, lying in a pile of fake wands, made him release his breath in a loud bark of laughter before he clapped his hand over his mouth. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a silvered snuff box, opening it to reveal the shard of a very special mirror and called out, "Mione, Mione, you there?"

"Harry, I thought we agreed on no names!" her hushed, high whisper came back, her soft brown eye glaring sharply through one half, Ron's bright blue eye crinkled anxiously almost right next to hers.

"Did they, did they eat them, then?" Ron's urgent whisper half strangled in his excitement. "I mean, we thought the new sampler selection might put them off but, well, since they were planning the new one, you know, yeah?"

"They ate them, they went for the fake wands that Neville and Luna managed to plant after I let them out of my pocket when I dropped off the goods, they are two large, dead canaries," Harry said, his voice a bit louder now, inching into the room. The heel of his highly polished black boot nudged the wing of one of the canaries and he pulled it back quickly as all the feathers fell off to reveal a robed arm. "Yech, it's kinda gross, like something out of a horror movie, only not quite so big. Half man, half bird."

"And all dead, right?"

Harry blinked and looked back down at the snuff box to see a pair of sharp, ice blue eyes staring out of the mirror.

"Yes George, they are about as dead as dead can get."

The blue eyes crumpled close a moment, pained, then opened, victorious and sorrowful all at once. "Good."

There was some motion as the mirror was passed around and Hermione's eyes came back into view. "Sorry about that Harry, anyway, clean up, get Neville and Luna and get out of there – there's some noise at the ministry and one of the D.E.'s may be heading over any moment."

"Right," he closed snuff box and crouched near the floor, picking up a couple of the fake wands and shoving them in his wand pocket before making a sweep with his wand and summoning the rest of the stuff, feathers included. An inquisitive squeak nearby made him glance over to see two pairs of bright eyes from under an ancient armoire.

"Hey guys, c'mon, let's get out of here before the Polyjuice wears off," he smiled tightly before tugging his pocket open. Both mice dashed out from their hiding stuff and clambered noisily into the pocket.

• • •

_"…And now, heedlessly, both reach for the toffees, and now, unknowingly, they unwrap the sweets and eat those too. For while the tests check for curses, poisons, jinxes, hexes, and other malicious tricks, they do not, unfortunately for the Dark Lord and his servant, check for pranks._

_"And now, the Weasley twins' ingenious Wizarding Wheezes prove themselves invaluable, especially more so with a carefully engineered time-release formula made to activate upon consumption of both a canary cream and a ton-tongue toffee, which would then not subside for a full five minutes unless the proper countercharms and potions were administered, long enough for the plot to have fulfilled its destiny and to smite down He Who Must Not Be Named and his number one supporter, a previously supposed deceased Peter Pettigrew, cont. page 8 **Boy Who Prevailed**"_

Hermione snorted, giving the Prophet a shake, before thumbing over to continue reading the article. "Glad to see Rita Skeeter is putting that pen of hers to good use."

"Got a flare for the dramatics, doesn't she?" Ron agreed. "Ought ta send her some canary creams, you know? She thinks they're so ingenious and all"

Hermione put the paper down thoughtfully. "How's George anyway? I've barely seen him since—"

"He's sleeping. You know, he barely slept since Fred died, so, sleeping is good."

"It is." Hermione nodded then glanced over at Harry, who was poking his fork absentmindedly at his bangers and beans. "And how are you, Harry? I mean, having had to pretend to be Malfoy for so long, and…" She fell silent as Harry put his fork down and rubbed a hand tiredly over his face.

"Not good, but not bad either. I'm just, you know, I know it's gonna get better, but it's, you know, it's taking some time, like, I'm relieved, but it's still taking some time for it all to just sink in." Harry paused, lowering his hand a bit. "I'm just glad I get to wear my own face again," and he reached up for perhaps the fiftieth time that day to touch his scar.

* * *

Whoo, okay, the original bit was this crack thing about how Fred and George Weasley somehow or other discover that Voldemort has this huge sweet tooth and switch his weekly Honeydukes delivery with a special mix up of their classic Wizarding Wheezes, including swapping out their wands with their trick wands. Really, it was totally crack, and a lot more hilarious than what the final product became (so serious! I couldn't believe it, really, and am still confused how it happened, but oh well.) Anywho, in case you missed it, Fred died – he was always seemed more vicious, and more likely to go on the attack, which I figured meant it was very likely to make him killed – you know, so Gryffindory he was reckless and left himself completely exposed to danger, oh, and what else? … Ah, in this, well, my Snapey has died (cries) while finding out Voldemort's weakness (sweet tooth extreme), so he makes no cameo at the end, oh, and Ginny dies (cheers) when Fred dies (cries) while defending the shop, and Ginny's dying is what helped pull Neville and Luna into the whole scheme. Um, that's it for this version of _The End?_ and I'm still not sure whether or not I will post my other piece (for some reason I'm having a hard time ending the piece with "scar.") I might, I might. But I'm a rather indecisive sort of person, oh, and apparently rather chatty right now (wowies) so, ah, I guess I'll end this now. Byes!


End file.
